


surrender

by sicklikewinter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklikewinter/pseuds/sicklikewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not John.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	surrender

**Author's Note:**

> oh no dave you're losing him  
> what are you going to do
> 
> on another note how do i tag things to make sure people don't hate me

When Bro talks about how such a “good pet” John is the blood in your veils boils—steaming frothing tumultuous he’s taunting you teasing you so fucking  _smug_  john listens to him like a “good pet” good boy good john good good good—and the urge to wreck his shit rises higher and higher and higher in your throat and threatens to spill out in the form of harsh words and curses.

You saw John  _first_.

He was supposed to be  _yours_  (but he isn’t and it hurts and confuses you why isn’t john **yours** ), and yours alone. Not Bro’s. It was supposed to be  _you_  John comes to when you open the apartment door, a smile on his face as he greets you; and your heart races when you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, a memory to keep you sane and from releasing your anger out on a smuppet or Bro or worse yet— _John_.

It’s not supposed to be  ** _Bro_**  he goes running to, in utter fear (and resignation you can see it in his blue eyes; it’s a tragedy he’s giving up and giving in and it pisses you off so so so much) and obedience, standing iron-rod straight as Bro smirks and pats him on his head. 

“Good boy,” he coos, and it makes the inside of your stomach flip and the inside of your mouth taste like bile and something else—hatred jealousy john is mine mine mine bro fuck you!!—something like hurtbetrayalsadnessohjohnwhywhy _why_.

You watch as John literally  _vibrates_ in happiness at the praise, and eagerly laps up the attention Bro puts on him. Leaning against the wall in the darkened hallway of the apartment, you watch the scene with an ache in your heart. This isn’t right, John was supposed to be  _ **yours**_  god dammit.

You leave the hallway and hide out in your room, slamming the door and flopping into the pile of blankets on your bed. Burying your head in the pillows you let out a frustrated groan, ignoring the footsteps that pass by your room. It’s just Bro, heading to his ‘study’ to work on things—aka mutilate the person held inside, muffled with duct tape and wrists aching with rope burn—and the idea to do the same to John and leave him out for Bro to find crosses your mind for a moment.

The sound of quiet knocking is what shakes the thought from your head; and if you strain your ears long enough, there’s a quiet whine from behind the door. Bro’s already gotten his hands on the only thing you thought could be  _yours_ , completely and thoroughly. Reluctant to even leave the slight comfort your bed provided, you rise and open the door. 

John stands there, hands toying with the hem of the too-big t-shirt he’s wearing—a shockingly bright orange color (Bro’s, your mind hisses) and you can see his blue boxer briefs peaking out—and looking like he wanted to say something to you. It makes your heart leap in your chest, maybe he’ll apologize; try to hang out with you and make things okay again. You missed the normalcy, the banter, the sarcasm and _fire_  John brought to the apartment; you missed it so much and you wanted it back. 

He’s still silent, fidgeting and it’s making your heart ache even more. He’s not the same John when you first got him—he’s no fire there’s nothing there anymore fattened up on Bro’s twisted mind games he’s a fucking walking textbook definition and it hurts it hurts it  _hurts_ —and it makes you grind your teeth. 

“You’re not John.” 

The words taste foreign on your lips, something you’ve never anticipated happening and it’s something you’re slowly coming to utterly and completely  _despise_. John says nothing (again again again why why why isn’t he speaking?!) and it only makes you grind your teeth more; the rage and heat in your veils boiling hotter and hotter.

John tilts his head at you, eyes glassy and glazed over—not the sky the sky has fallen fallen fallen down—and whines low in his throat, hand reaching up to paw gently-soothingly at your own hand. You slap it away, and pull him close to you by the collar of Bro’s shirt.

“You’re not him anymore, why the  _fuck_  are you acing like this?” your voice doesn’t sound like yours, it’s harsh raspy and utterly betrayed; and John does nothing nothing nothing! You can feel him tremble in your grasp and you give up, and then he’s slammed against the wall and you’re shaking him low mutterings of ‘fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!’ leaving your lips. 

He only whimpers and shakes and struggles to leave, and as fast as the rage comes, it leaves you boneless and limp and he darts away— _straight to bros room tail tucked between his legs and it sends another finality into your heart hes not john anymore no no no no_ —and you retreat back to your room.

John’s given up, and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it; and you know this it’s right in fucking front of your face, Bro gets everything you want—it’s a given you get the handmedowns the broken things Bro is older he gets the best best best and the nicest things!—and then some.

It hurts to know, but you’re slowly surrendering to the fact John is never going to be yours.


End file.
